He bent low over the animal's neck, urging every ounce of speed out of it that he could. The houses and buildings of Tremont flew by. In less than a minute he was clear of the town and into the forest, galloping for the Coast Road. From what Erin had said, the hills were somewhere to his left. The problem was, so were the Orlocks. Forty yards ahead he spotted a single-track path that appeared to go in the right direction. Praying he still had enough time, he skidded the horse to a halt and jumped down.
No sense in announcing my arrival. Just give me a clear view of the cave, he thought.
Quietly unbuckling the scabbard from around his waist, he slid his sword out and rested the scabbard on the ground. The Kayseri steel, with its odd grainlike lines, glinted dully in the low forest light.
Mathew followed the path, moving as quickly and silently as possible. At home he had always been good at stalking rabbits, and though these weren't rabbits, he decided the principle was about the same. In a short while the trees thinned out. His heart sank when he saw that there was nothing but an open field between him and the base of the hill where the cave should be. What he did see, however, made him catch his breath. At the end of the field, well to his left, were at least two hundred fully armed Orlocks emerging from the trees. More followed behind them.
Knowing he had to get to the cover of the trees on the other side of the field, Mathew dropped to his stomach and began to angle his way through the high grass. He estimated that it was perhaps a hundred yards to the trees. If his luck held—and he prayed that it would—he had a good chance of circling around the creatures before they saw him. Their fetid odor reached his nose. It took him more time than he wanted to reach the end of the field, and it seemed he held his breath the entire way. The trees were now just in front of him.
At last he was able to see the base of the hills Erin had mentioned. He hoped the cave opening would be visible. Close by, he heard branches snapping and leaves crushed underfoot as more Orlocks entered the forest. His own heart was pounding so badly, he was certain even a deaf Orlock would be able to hear it ten feet away. Got to get closer, he thought.
From the sounds around him, he guessed that the number of Orlocks had at least doubled since his first glimpse. Mathew crouched low behind the last tree he could use for cover and searched the face of the twin hills for any sign of a cave.
Then he saw it. Two Orlocks, fully dressed in chain mail and hardened leather armor, were making their way down the side of the hill. Their cloaks were dappled shades of green and brown that blended with the forest and undergrowth. If not for the fact they were moving, he might have missed them completely.
The cave opening was not what he'd expected. It was little more than a crack in the rocky face of the hill, perhaps eight feet high, and only wide enough to permit two or three of the Orlocks at the same time. He thought that perhaps several hundred had come through already. If Delain's estimate of their numbers was accurate, at that rate it would take hours for the rest to get through. Whatever the reason for the delay he was willing to take it. Mathew made his decision.
The only way the Elgarians had a chance would be tc meet Duren head-on instead of fighting on two different fronts. It was true his people were badly outnumbered, but he was determined to do something to make sure those numbers didn't get any worse.
He'd shut his eyes and just begun to concentrate when a hand closed over his mouth. He lashed out backward with his left arm and struck something solid. Mathew threw himself forward and rolled to his right.
A very annoyed Collin Miller looked back at him, rubbing his ear.
"Collin?"
"Of course it's me," he hissed. "What the hell do you think you're doing, rushing out of there like a madman? There are Orlocks everywhere. Some friend. I come to rescue you and you punch me in the ear."
"I'm sorry," Mathew whispered back. "Look up there."
Collin looked and then nodded. "Great. That makes a thousand Orlocks—and us. Maybe we can challenge them to a name-calling contest."
The comment made Mathew smile in spite of himself. "I've got something else in mind," he said. "Get ready to run like your life depended on it."
A million expressions to choose from and he picks that one, Collin thought.
The sounds around him were getting too close for his comfort. In the distance, there were three blasts of a horn, and moments later another horn of an entirely different timbre answered.
He was trying to place exactly where the sounds had come from when the ground under his feet began to move. Collin froze in place, looking around in shock. So did the Orlocks coming out of the cave.
Mat!
Mathew's body was rigid. Every muscle seemed to be straining against some tremendous unseen force. The rolling and heaving of the ground continued and Collin fought to keep his balance. Seconds later a deep groaning sound unlike anything he had ever heard in his life began. It felt like it was coming from the earth itself. Collin saw that the Orlocks were scrambling out of the cave as fast as they could. He looked up at the hill in disbelief as the rock itself began to move. It wasn't much at first. Bits of earth started falling from the ledge above the crevice and a few small rocks clattered down the hill. Soon the bits of earth accelerated, becoming a shower. Then it happened again. A long protracted groan, like the land itself was in pain, gradually became louder and louder. Unbelievably, the cave entrance was closing. Larger rocks were crashing down the hill now, smashing into the base below. The shocks transmitted through the ground reached them more than seventy yards away.
He saw one Orlock desperately try to squeeze itself through the space that remained—and fail. The right side of the hill moved inexorably toward the left, trapping and crushing the creature. It screamed and continued to scream, horrible to hear. Unable to watch the Orlock's agony any longer, Collin looked away. Blood seeped down over the bare rock. There was a final muffled shriek from the Orlock, followed by silence when the doorway slammed shut. At the same time, the ledge above the cave let go, tearing itself away from the rest of the hill. It cascaded down with an ominous rumble, until millions of tons of earth and rock sealed off any trace of the opening that had been there only a moment before.
When it was over, Mathew took a step backward and would have fallen if Collin hadn't been there to catch
him.
"Mat," he whispered urgently. "Are you all right?" Mathew stared at him blankly as if he didn't know where he was. Collin took him by the shoulders and said, "Look at me. Mat, we've got to get moving. They'll be on
us soon."
"I just need a minute."
Mathew's voice sounded thick and the words came out slurred, like a person who'd drunk too much ale.
"C'mon, I'll help you."
Collin put an arm around his friend's waist. On his left, the voices were closer, dry rasping sounds. They still had to make it across the field, and he had no idea how they were going to do that and stay alive.
"All right, one step at a time," he said. "Hang on."
With Collin supporting him, Mathew took a stumbling step forward and then another. Crouching low and moving through the trees, they managed to reach the perimeter of the field in just under a minute. To his surprise, Mathew appeared to be getting stronger.
"Do you think you can make it to the trees on the other side?" Collin asked.
Mathew shook his head and was about to say something when a chorus of shouts close by stopped him.
"Go," Mathew whispered, pushing Collin away.
"Like hell! If they don't kill me, Lara certainly will. We both stay or we both go. That's it. You were the one who said run for your life, so let's get the hell out of here."
Mathew's mouth tightened and he took two deep breaths.
"Now."
Collin still had him around the waist when they emerged from the cover of the trees and began a jagged trot across the field. Tall blades of grass whipped at his face as they ran. Behind them the Orlocks were coming, a
nd they were coming fast. By the time they were halfway to the other side, Mathew felt his strength returning and his stride smoothed out. Collin noticed it as well, and released his arm from around his waist. In another fifty yards they'd be into the trees.
Instinctively, Mathew reached for the power once again, forming the image of a firewall in his mind.
Nothing happened.
A wave of panic gripped him, only to be replaced by a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, as though a part of himself had been torn away. Collin, who must have sensed his momentary hesitation, turned toward him.
Mathew shook his head, gritted his teeth, and increased his pace to full speed. Both of them charged through the underbrush into the trees, running as hard as they could.
Neither had to look to know how close the Orlocks were.
They dodged under branches and around trees, avoiding
the heavy roots that threatened to grab their ankles. Mathew's lungs were burning from the effort, but he kept going, fighting through the pain. Beside him, he could hear Collin breathing heavily. "There," Collin gasped.
Relief swept over him when he saw that his horse was still where he'd left it, with Collin's mount now next to it.
They were no more than fifty yards away. Collin reached the horses first and jumped into the saddle, with Mathew only a step behind. He had no sooner seated himself when a lance embedded itself in the tree next to him, followed by another and then another. The Orlocks came rushing through the trees at them, screaming. "Rider Collin yelled.
Mathew dug his heels into the horse's flanks. At the same time, long-nailed white hands reached out to grab him. The horse reared and bolted forward. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that he'd left his scabbard behind. In front of him, Mathew could see chunks of earth flying up from the hooves of Collin's horse. Moments later they both broke clear of the forest and charged down the road toward town. Soon the south gate of Tremont came into sight, as did ten Orlocks, angling sharply toward them from the woods on their left.
When Father Thomas heard the sentry at the gate yell "Riders coming in," his heart missed a beat. He had seen Mathew tear by him down the street only a little while ago, followed by Collin. When Bran lay dying in his arms, he had sworn an oath to his oldest friend to care for and protect his son, and he had never broken an oath in his life. How long ago did that happen? he wondered. His mind was in turmoil. To go after the boys meant leaving
the town with women and children who were unprepared and unprotected. And he doubted that any right-minded Elgarian was going to start taking orders from a Bajani general, including the three soldiers Delain had left behind. It left him as the only one with enough military experience to hold things together. But for how long and against how many Orlocks? And where was Delain?
He prayed the prince would arrive in time. His heart told him the Elgarians would come, but his head said they wouldn't. When he heard the horn blasts earlier, north of town, he knew the battle was joined—a battle that would determine the fate of nations and people for generations to come.
In the end, it was the women and children of Tremont that decided him. He could not let the Orlocks have them. Torn between his responsibility to the boys and the people there, he made his choice.
Twenty years before, near the close of the Sibuyan War, the regiment he had commanded was the first to reach the town of Lindsey. He could still remember the screams. The worst sight of all was the badly mutilated body of a child, not more than five or six years old. The boy was still barely alive, though by what miracle, he would never know. Despite years of combat, he had recoiled in shock. The little boy's lips were moving and he forced himself to bend down, putting his ear close to the child.
"Please kill me." The whisper had been barely audible.
That sight of pity and horror had never left his mind. He could still see the boy's one remaining eye slowly filling with tears that rolled down the side of his face as he took the dagger from his own belt. A tiny hand, broken and covered in blood, reached up for his. The boy managed the faintest of smiles as Siward Thomas plunged the dagger into the child's heart, begging God to forgive him for what he had just done. Bran Lewin, who was there, put an arm around his shoulders and held him until he stopped crying.
In the days that followed, when the Elgarian army had hunted the Orlocks and killed them without mercy, a dark rage buried deep inside of Siward Thomas was loosed, with a ferocity he had not believed he possessed. The recollection of it frightened him even to this day.
No, I will not let the Orlocks have them, he thought. They will find no one left alive if they breach the final barrier.
Father Thomas tore up the stairs two at a time. He reached the catwalk that ran around the inside perimeter of Tremont's defense wall just in time to see Mathew and Collin flying up the road on their horses toward the gate. He also knew they weren't going to make it. A band of Orlocks coming at them from the left was going to cut them off before they got there.
"Archers, ready!" he roared at the top of his lungs.
"Fire!"
Twenty arrows flew through the air, and a number of Orlocks went down. Mathew and Collin were no more than 150 yards from them now.
"Open the gate!" he yelled.
A second volley of arrows cut down more of the Orlocks. Hundreds of others were coming out of the forest close behind. He saw Mathew and Collin break to their right, riding down two of the creatures. A third leaped onto the back of Collin's horse and tried to pull him from the saddle. The horse reared, throwing the creature off. Collin pulled the reins sharply and turned his horse to the left, charging forward at a full gallop.
"Go, go, go!" every man on the wall screamed, urging
them on.
Father Thomas ran down the steps, jumping from the last four of them to the ground as the gate swung open and they rode in. As soon as they jumped off, the priest immediately grabbed each of them in a fierce embrace. He opened his mouth to say something when someone called out, "Here they come!"
"Ready, lads. Make each shot count," another man
yelled.
Pulling his attention away, Father Thomas ran back up the steps again, ducking just in time to avoid an Orlock
spear. More followed. Most either embedded themselves harmlessly in the thick wood of the gate or sailed over the heads of those defending the wall.
"There are about six or seven hundred still left," Mathew said between gulps of air, crouching down next to Father Thomas. "They're right behind us."
"So I see. Are you both all right?"
Mathew and Collin nodded.
"Has there been any word from Delain?" Mathew asked.
"Not yet. Our people have engaged the enemy to the north. The question now is whether they can get through in time. What did you mean 'still left,' my son?" Father Thomas asked.
Mathew quickly explained what had happened, and Collin filled in the details he left out. Father Thomas's eyes widened.
After a few minutes the spears stopped coming.
"Where's Akin?" Collin asked.
"He's at the other end of town with our Bajani friend," Father Thomas replied. The priest poked his head up and saw a mass of yellow-haired Orlocks advancing toward the gates.
"Mathew, is there anything you can do about them?"
Once again Mathew reached for the power and found only emptiness. "Not yet, Father," he said.
"Then I suppose we will have to do what we can. Get ready, men!" he called out, checking each side of the battlements. "If they breech the wall, we fall back to the tavern, and then to the North Gate. Does everyone understand? If the creatures want Tremont, they'll have to take it inch by inch."
"You tell 'em, Father," a heavyset dark-haired man to their right said. The man turned to Mathew. "Nice mount you rode in on, son. Hope you did some good out there."
The tunic the man wore was stretched tightly over his stomach, and in his hand he carried a bow as if it
were a toy. It wasn't until much later that Mathew learned his name was Edwin, and it was his horse he had taken earlier.
A pretty red-haired girl of about fourteen came running down the street with two bows and full quivers for Collin and Mathew. She curtsied and then dashed back up
the street.
A huge roar went up from outside the wall as the Or-locks began their assault. Sparing a quick glance through one of the timbers, Mathew saw the creatures streaming out of the trees from all sides and running for the gates. Some of the Orlocks had painted black circles around their eyes and mouths, giving them an even more grotesque and frightening aspect. One of the men on his right noted the same thing.
"It doesn't make them any more attractive, if you ask me," he said, drawing a bead on the nearest one with his
bow.
Arrows began buzzing through the air from all points along the catwalk, and though Orlock after Orlock fell, others seemed to take their place just as quickly. Mathew couldn't say how long the fighting went on, but he found himself drenched in sweat and his mouth bone dry.
During the first wave it became clear why the Orlocks had thrown their spears into the wall. Running over the bodies of their own comrades, either dead or still living, some reached the bottom of the wall and began climbing, using the spears for a ladder. On the far left end of the catwalk several made it over the top, only to be cut down by the Tremont defenders.
Throughout the waning afternoon as the sun settled lower and lower, a number of women and girls from the town brought food and water to the men. The younger boys carried fresh supplies of arrows to replace the ones that were lost. To his surprise, several times during the day Mathew saw a number of women take up positions along the wall. Their faces as determined as the men, they fired down on the Orlocks.
The second wave was considerably worse. More and more Orlocks fought their way to the top, killing at least ten men and two women before they themselves were killed. One of the Orlocks dragged a man with him over
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 46
